


Memory Serves

by LikeSatellites



Category: Kpop - Fandom, VIXX
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst and Humor, Awkward Sex, Blowjobs, First Time, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Frotting, ILY, M/M, Porn with Feelings, bandfic, cute shy awkward boys, i know i've been gone a while but plz read my fics again, longfic, neo is life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-23
Updated: 2016-01-23
Packaged: 2018-05-15 15:37:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5791063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LikeSatellites/pseuds/LikeSatellites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hakyeon knew he was dreaming because he was floating over what appeared to be the Pacific Ocean.<br/>“Kiss me, Hakyeon.”<br/>Taekwoon was there too.<br/>The moon passed over the sun, eclipsing all light.<br/>“It’s too dark.”<br/>“Kiss me.”<br/>Taekwoon began sinking into the ocean.<br/>“I can’t see.”</p><p>Hakyeon wants to always be around him. He doesn't want to be anywhere near him. He wants to hold him. He wants to get his life together. </p><p>He wants to call his mom.<br/>Again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Memory Serves

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: This is an actual bandfic for VIXX and Neo, and I tried to follow their chronology, but I'm sure I messed some stuff up. Anyhow, I've been working on this fic for like a whole damn year, so if it sucks then...there goes 365 days of my life. I haven't even really edited it because its so damn long and I just wanted to finally finish it because it has been torturing me. Please comment and kudos and all that junk. I missed you guys. Thanks!

October 2013:           

 

 “How much do you love me?” Hakyeon’s mother cooed into the phone.

                   He was about a little less than four hours from her, but he hadn’t seen her in eight months.

                   “What kind of question is that, Mom? I love you a lot.” He pressed the phone tighter to his ear, shelved between his cheek and his shoulder. He was sitting in the company van, knees pulled to his chest, watching through tinted windows as fans pour into the stadium to watch their concert.

                   “How much is a lot?”

                   He found himself cupping his hands in the air, miming a great distance, or at least a distance between hands that seems great.

                   “You can’t see me, but I’m gesturing. I’m gesturing that I love you _this much_.”

                   She laughed, and his eyes brimmed with something hot like searing palms pressed to the inside of his skull.

 

August 1991:

                  

He could remember the first time he said _I love you_. His mother was making him mimic the words the way mothers do, her chopsticks waving around in front of his face. To this day, Hakyeon isn’t sure why this day was so important to his mother, as she’d already raised three children, had them experience the same experiment with words.

                   “Hakyeon-ah. Hakyeonnie, mommy loves you,” she had said, and Hakyeon giggled.

                   (He only knows this because it is on tape. His father’s hands were shaking as they filmed; Hakyeon assumes from laughter.)

                   “Hakyeonnie, the love of my life, my last child, my littlest baby, the product of twenty-three hours of excruciating labor ( _Honey, please_ , his father insisted in the background) do you love mommy? Do you love me?”

                   Hakyeon giggled, the sound burbling up between his little lips as if accidental. He looked shocked at his own sounds as he banged his fists down on the plastic tray of his high chair.

                   “Mommy loves you from the Earth to the Moon and back, Hakyeonnie, do you know that?” Her tan, soft hands transported the tiny pieces of orange into Hakyeon’s mouth, and in the background Hakyeon’s father muttered, “Honey, he can’t even try to reply if you shovel fruit into his mouth like that.”

                   She fixed him a glare that Hakyeon himself is quite familiar with still, one she reserves for people she treasures most.

                   “Momma,” Hakyeon gurgled, juice flying every which way. “Lobu momma.”

                   His mom’s shrieks broke their first VHS player’s speakers when they first rewatched the tape.

                   She had started crying on the tape, her hands scrambling to Hakyeon’s cheeks, cupping them as he giggled more and more, her radiating joy making him kick his little chubby legs against the seat.

                  

 

January 2015:

 

“Do we have time to stop for ice cream, hyung?” Sanghyuk asked from the backseat of the van, his tan arms coming to wrap around Hongbin’s headrest. Hakyeon took the opportunity to shift his gaze to the rearview mirror, pretending to look at Sanghyuk as he spoke.

                   Hakyeon glanced down at the radio clock quickly when he felt eyes on him.

                   “No, we don’t.”

                   “ _Please_ —”

                   “But we’ll go anyway.”

                   Hakyeon pretended to act smug as the others erupted into joyous cheers, but inside his skull he swore he could see the afterimage of those eyes peering up at him, lost, confused. His chest felt tight in the way it sometimes did those days.

      

March 2015:             

 

_Hakyeon knew he was dreaming because he was floating over what appeared to be the Pacific Ocean._

_“Kiss me, Hakyeon.”_

_Taekwoon was there too._

_The moon passed over the sun, eclipsing all light._

_“It’s too dark.”_

_“Kiss me.”_

_Taekwoon began sinking into the ocean._

_“I can’t see.”_

_“What’s there to see?” Taekwoon begged, legs dipped in the waves._

_“Everything, anything!” Hakyeon flailed, not able to see Taekwoon but hearing the sounds of the waves lapping at his body._

_“So you won’t kiss me?” The water was up to Taekwoon’s chin._

_“I didn’t say that. I just said it’s too dark.”_

_“Just my lips, Hakyeon. It’s just my lips. Before it’s too late, please.”_

_“Is there a light switch? A lamp?”_

      

July 2013:             

 

“Mom, tell me the story of how Dad proposed.”

                   “Your dad didn’t propose, actually.”

                   He was sitting in his childhood home, laying on the roof with his mom, watching the satellites pass over the city. When he was younger, recently debuted, he and his mother used to name the satellites as new constellations, since they were the only visible pseudo-stars in sight.

                   _I name this one Hakyeon_ , she’d said.

                   _Are we naming them after the people we love most?_

                   _Don’t be so smarmy. Idol life has made you greasier than ever._

_Should I name it after who I love most?_

_I want a brighter light to be named after me._

_Oh ho! Look who’s the over-confident smarm now!_

_Who could you ever love more than your mother, Hakyeonnie?_ She’d pouted in that way Hakyeon frequently found himself mimicking.

                   “You proposed to Dad?” Hakyeon replied, turning his head to watch his mom’s face in the dim lighting. He was always stricken with worry when he came home and found her older. It was strange to him, since he never noticed his own aging, but he was constantly noticing the way her hair thinned at the part, and her skin sagged under her cheeks.

                   She pulled her hair up on top of her head and then let it fall back down. She did this when she was thinking, trying to formulate the best story to tell. Hakyeon wished he were as good with words as his mom was.

                   “Sort of. We couldn’t afford a ring anyhow, so it was mostly just me bursting into tears as we rode our bikes one day because I had a dream that your father died before I could claim him publicly.”

                   “Mom, that’s absurd. And really disturbing.”

                   “No, really! I had this really vivid dream that your father started sinking into the earth in the middle of the grocery parking lot, and I kept tugging on his arms over and over, but he just kept sinking. And he took my hand down with him before the earth swallowed him up, so I took that as a sign that we had to get married immediately.”

                   “I’m really glad I get my looks from Dad, so I can at least pretend I’m more like him.”

                   “My dear sweet son, you can’t run from love.”

                   Hakyeon choked on air. Or maybe it was a lightning bug. Was his throat glowing? He could feel the heat of the light in his chest, floating down in a spiral towards his ribcage, buzzing numbly.

                   “Maybe not,” Hakyeon said, as his mom eyed him behind her thick-framed glasses. “My poor Dad, he’s clearly suffered enough for his love.”

                   His mother smacked him on the arm and cried, “Why must our beautiful children learn to speak? They always become so cruel!”

                  

February 2015:

                  

The door to his hotel room opened, and Jaehwan stepped in.

                   “You looking at porn?”

                   Hakyeon looked down at the watermelon on the table and then back up at Jaehwan.

                   “Either I’m grotesquely out of the loop on current porn trends, or you need a new eyeglass prescription.”

                   “I was making a joke,” Jaehwan laughed, dropping down into the seat across from Hakyeon. The chairs were too firm to be comfortable, and they were some strange shade of yellow that only came from frugality in decorating. Considering the walls were decorated with watercolor portraits of infants in watering cans, Hakyeon could only assume the hotel was going through some tough times.

                   He poked at the half watermelon with his long spoon. Jaehwan lifted another spoon and joined him in the poking.

                   “You okay?”

                   Hakyeon and Jaehwan didn’t talk about feelings. They talked about other idols, shallow talk of industry things. But Jaehwan sounded sincere, concerned.

                   “’m fine,” he replied, spooning watermelon into his mouth like a lifeline.

                   “Hakyeon, you watched my drama, right?”

                   Hakyeon spit a black seed into his palm, turning it over with his fingers, trying to focus on anything that wasn’t Jaehwan. He hummed as a reply.

                   “Do you remember the episode where Dohee pretends she doesn’t love me—”

                   “Not _you_ , Jaehwan.”

                   “She pretends she doesn’t love me, so that she doesn’t cause any problems, right? So that I can be free and follow my dreams and shit.”

                   “Not you. Your _character_ , Jaehwan.”

                   Jaehwan scooped up a hefty chunk of watermelon and shoveled it into his mouth, letting the juices run over his lips as he continued speaking, “I just think that maybe you need to loosen up a bit. I mean, is it the end of the world to be in love? Isn’t love what makes the world go _round_ , Cha Hakyeon?” He sounded like he was a few split seconds from bursting into song.

                   “Wipe your mouth, Lee Jaehwan.” Hakyeon dropped his spoon down onto the table.

                   Jaehwan drummed against the table with his spoon and one of his fingers. “I’m just saying, you know? I think maybe a smooch would be okay sometimes. Or maybe write one of those cute, sappy letters that drama leads always write or receive like ‘If you’re reading this, then I’m dead, and I just—’”

                   “I wish I were dead.”

                  

      

April 2012:

 

Hakyeon found himself on the wrong metro train.

                   He wasn’t sure how it happened. He was generally pretty street savvy, but he must’ve been zoning out, taking in bright lights and cosmetic ads ( _Should he invest in skin bleaching?_ ) and muffled voices over the speakers.

                   He grabbed hold of the suit sleeve of the man next to him.

                   “Excuse me—where is this train headed?”

                   The man didn’t answer, just pushed Hakyeon’s hand away as if it were poisonous or radioactive or something and began muttering to himself as he slammed his headphones into his ears.

                   “ _Tourists_ ,” the man hissed, shaking his head.

                   “Actually I’m—”

                   “ _Can’t read a damn map_ —”

                   “I mean—”

                   He fell forward against the doors, palms pressed to the thick glass, as the train jerked on the rails, and for a few long minutes he just watched the city pass by through the windows.

                   He didn’t notice at first when the lights flickered, but then the train came to a screeching halt. The cars rocked for a brief second before falling completely still.

                   The lights shut off.

                   The man who’d shoved him away reached and grabbed Hakyeon’s red sweater as the doors all opened at once.

                   “Please watch the doors!” the train conductor bellowed through the loudspeakers, just as Hakyeon’s arms waved around helplessly in the open air as he almost fell through the doors.

                   The man tugged Hakyeon back into the train, and Hakyeon’s head was reeling as he dropped down into the open seat by the door.

                   “Kid. Kid, you okay?”

                   Hakyeon rubbed at his eyes with the heels of his palms. “Did I almost just die?”

                   “I mean you almost took a tumble, that’s for sure,” the man replied.

                   “A tumble,” Hakyeon repeated, lips spreading into a crooked, deformed smile.

                   “Kid, uh, you sure you’re okay?”

                   Hakyeon found himself laughing, tears springing into his eyes as if being poured directly through his eye sockets from his skull.

                   “You got a thread loose, kid.”

                   Hakyeon nodded. Of course he did. He almost just fell out onto the train tracks. He’d been in Seoul for such a short time, and he was already almost dead, thereby breaking his mom’s one and only rule of moving to Seoul: _Just don’t die_.

                   The train was up and running again in less than an hour, and honestly Hakyeon fell asleep until he wound up back where he began. As he was exiting the train, the man from before tapped him on the shoulder.

                   “Kid, your thread—”

                   “I’m okay now, Sir. But thanks for your concern. I will try and, uh, tighten my threads,” Hakyeon said, rapping his knuckles playfully against his head.

                   “No, I mean your sweater. It’s unraveling.”

                   Hakyeon followed the man’s gesturing finger back into the train, where he saw that there was a web of red thread from the door he’d fallen through to the seat he’d sat on and up through the door he’d exited out of all the way over to where he was standing.

                   The doors shut, and the train began drifting away, and Hakyeon could feel the slightest tug just below his ribcage as the thread snapped between the doors, leaving a frail train of red leading to his feet.

                   “Oh.”

                   “You know what they say about red string, don’t you kid?” the man joked.

                   “Am I going to fall in love with a train?”

                  

Back at the Jellyfish building, Hakyeon was telling the other trainees the story of  his death-defying experience when he felt the same hollow tug in his abdomen. He chalked it up to that sensation that amputees get—ghost limb?—and ignored it as he dove back into the story.

Wonshik was braiding Hongbin’s frizzy curls at the nape of his neck into hideous rat tails as they both listened.

Hakyeon always liked Wonshik. He was a deep-voiced teddy bear child stuffed into the lean-muscled body of an awkward teenage boy, and he made good conversation. Hongbin was quiet, more reserved, but content to just sit there and listen as Hakyeon and Wonshik bantered from time to time. Hakyeon had hated Hongbin at first for being the porcelain-skinned perfect visual trainee that Hakyeon could never be, but then he’d seen Hongbin dance. He felt better about himself after that.

Jaehwan, the boy Hakyeon was closest to at this point, was in vocal training with the other quiet boy—Taekwoon—so Hakyeon tried to memorize his story in the most riveting sequence in order to relay it to Jaehwan later.

Hakyeon’s red sweater sat discarded next to Hongbin, one arm stretched out toward the door in a lonesome sort of way.

“So the man grabbed me—”

“You said that part already,” Hongbin corrected, humming as Wonshik’s fingers raked over his scalp to pull more hair into the braids.

“Oh, me next, me next, Wonshik-ah,” Jaehwan cried from the hall, rushing into the practice room, his voice hoarse from vocal lessons. Jaehwan had the least practicing to do vocally, but he always emerged from vocal practice like a battered action star walking away from a barrel of exploding grenades. Jaehwan did everything like he was walking away from a barrel of exploding grenades.

“Jaehwan, come listen to Hakyeon’s story of the ghost train,” Hongbin said, smirking in Hakyeon’s direction.

“It wasn’t a ghost train; it was just broken—Hongbin, were you even listening?”

Hongbin smiled again in a way that Hakyeon will later learn meant _yes, I was, but look at your stupid face_.

“A ghost? On the train? Was she pretty? I hear all female ghosts are virgins,” Jaehwan chirped, tossing his sweaty hair from his forehead. “Was she a pretty virgin ghost on the train, Hakyeon?”

Hakyeon groaned and flopped onto his back, staring up at the ceiling as Taekwoon walked past.

Taekwoon reminded Hakyeon of a schoolyard shadow. Like when the tallest kid in class stood during afternoon recess, the sun low in the sky, barely shining over the school building; his shadow was always merely a dark stump no matter how he puffed himself up or stretched out his long arms. Taekwoon himself was tall; lithe, pale skin stretched tight over lean muscle; but he was never more than an afternoon shadow around the others. Except when he sang. That was when the sun around Taekwoon shone the brightest, and he let himself reach out, presence spreading to fill the room.

 

May 2015:

 

"Hakyeon?"

Hakyeon stood with his back to the door, trying on different snap backs (which were definitely not Wonshik's and definitely do not make his head look egg-ish), when Sangyuk's voice floated in.

"Why are you awake?" Was all Hakyeon said by way of reply.

"I was watching Joonyoung sunbae's drama," Sangyuk said, coming to grab a few pairs of snap backs, stacking them on top of his head in a tower. Somehow it looked better than any single hat on Hakyeon.

"Do we even get that channel?" Hakyeon asked, throwing all the hats into a pile away from him, giving them one last cursory glance before kicking them under Wonshik's bed.

"It's on the Internet," Sangyuk said.

"It's pretty racy isn't it?" Hakyeon immediately regretted his use of the word ‘racy.’ He was already called an old man for being over 25.

"Do you think boys in Korea will be able to, you know? Like Joonjae and the Japanese boy from Cross Gene?" Sanghyuk tilted his hat tower to one side and took a few selcas. He filtered them until his skin glowed pale and bright under the hats. Damn him they looked cute. He immediately uploaded them to Twitter.

Hakyeon missed Sangyuk's question in his hat envy.

"What?"

"On the show, you know, Joonjae and, um, Taku-something--"

" _Racy_ ,” Hakyeon grunted, ignoring the question and flopping back onto Wonshik's bed because his is too far away for a dramatic dismissal.

"I mean, there are worse things, right? I mean your friend Woohyun, right? I mean he's--"

"He's what?!?" Hakyeon jerked upright, eyes hooded and menacing.

Sanghyuk sighed and pulled off each hat delicately one by one, placing them back into Wonshik's hat box.

 

January 2013:

 

The first time Hakyeon passed out due to exhaustion, he woke up in the infirmary of Jellyfish Entertainment with an IV hooked up to his arm and a soft, warm body behind him.

“Um.”

The body stirred but didn’t move away.

Hakyeon couldn’t move or turn around because of the IV needle precariously tucked into his vein, but somehow he knew who was in his bed.

He cleared his throat loudly, phlegm rumbling.

The body moved suddenly, sharp movements, trying to squirm away and roll off the cot, but Hakyeon caught one of his legs between his own two like a lobster claw.

"You stayed until I woke up," he said, holding the leg still between his leg-claw.

More squirming.

"Thank you," Hakyeon wheezed out with the effort of holding the boy still.

"Eat more."

"Huh?" Hakyeon stopped struggling to hold him.

"And sleep." Neither of them were moving at this point, nor were they facing each other. Their legs were still tangled, their bodies in a disjointed spoon.

"Oh." Hakyeon laughed softly, little puffs of air through cracked lips. "Okay, 'woonie."

 

December 2014:

 

The first time they kissed for real, it was Christmas season, and they had all just watched Cube's annual Christmas special group song. Not out of any need to emulate or learn something, as they normally did when watching other company programs; this they watched to laugh at BtoB.

"Can Changsub even have a normal face?" Hongbin asked, tears in his eyes from laughter.

"Look at Eunkwang, though! I love when he tries to look serious. I'm gonna text him right now," Hakyeon replied, reaching for his phone. "How is 'nice face ur a loser happy Christmas loser?'" He took a screenshot of Eunkwang's flared nostrils as he laughed at his own message.

Sanghyuk and Jaehwan were on the floor, trying to make a make-shift punch out of four old bottles of soju that their manager had stashed under his bed and some energy drinks from the vending machine.

Jaehwan was cracking ice cubes out of their Schnauser ice cube tray when Taekwoon sat down and dunked a cup into the punch.

"It's not cold yet," Sanghyun warned.

Taekwoon clearly didn't mind, as he began sipping it as if it weren't old soju and fruity chemicals.

"Hy--"

"Let's put on some music," Hongbin cut in. He was always good at reading moods, knowing when to let things die, when to bring them to light, and when to bury things under 10,000 years of sand until no one would ever find them again.

"Put on Drake's new album," Wonshik said, coming to sit beside Hongbin on the floor by the laptop. They couldn't have speakers because they were supposed to be asleep, but their manager was out with his family, unlike the six of them.

Which might explain why Taekwoon was dunking his cup a third time into the lukewarm piss water and chugging like an escaped prisoner who had spent the last ten years digging a tunnel with a rusted spoon.

Drake began to rap about something in English that it seemed no one really understood except Wonshik, who grinned to himself as Hongbin bobbed his head to it and tried to mouth the words.

"Is this all the soju you could find?" Jaehwan asked Sanghyuk.

"Listen, our managers may have drinking problems because of us, combined with societal pressure to have high tolerance...but I think they have more class than to hide that many bottles in an idol dorm."

"It was just a question. No need to get all philosophical," Jaehwan said, sniffing the punch.

"Let's play a game--" Wonshik cut in.

"Let's play something where we dictate when to drink or not," Hakyeon suggested, eyeing Taekwoon, who was peering into his empty cup with a sorrowful expression.

"Let's read the fan cafe and drink every time someone spells Hongbin's name wrong," Sanghyuk said.

"Or every time someone tells Taekwoon they love him but he should smile more."

At the mention of his name, Taekwoon peered up over the top of his cup, a single line of liquid dribbling down his chin.

Hakyeon swallowed down something akin to the feeling of 'gjfmskfofnsa' and turned up the Drake.

"Hakyeon," Jaehwan said, dropping down next to him and laying his head on Hakyeon's shoulder.

"Jaehwan," Hakyeon replied, unable to think of something snippy.

"Have a drink, Hakyeon. You look positively sour," he said, grabbing Halyeon's hand and shoving a full cup of reddish yellow liquid into it.

"I'm not sour!" He protested, sipping the drink with a resentful expression. "I'm just sad I'm not at home for Christmas. You know, with my family."

"You mean you miss your mom," Jaehwan said, smirking. "Oh, our little momma's boy, whatever will we do with you?"

"What's wrong with loving the woman who labored for excruciating hours to--"

Jaehwan slapped a hand over Hakyeon's mouth. "We get it. She's a magical, powerful being, and you love her." Jaehwan grew thoughtful. "But, Hakyeon, we are your family now too."

"Huh?" Hakyeon was mostly done with his cup by now, his tongue stained red by the juice.

"Us. You know, the people sitting in this room with you on Christmas," Jaehwan replied, gesturing to Hongbin and Wonshik, now sprawled on the floor, discussing SanE's new album as if it were a Bible story. Sanghyuk was scrolling through the fancafe and snorting at random comments. Taekwoon was--

"Where's..." Hakyeon started, shifting around on the floor, scanning the room.

"Where's who?" Jaehwan asked, annoyed that Hakyeon was interrupting his sage-like wisdom. "Oh," he said, suddenly aware, as a wide grin spread over his face.

"Don't--"

"Don't what?"

"That face! Don't do it!" Hakyeon said, grabbing Jaehwan's cheeks and mushing them together to hide his smile.

"Whuh abuh muh fush?" Jaehwan burbled through pursed fish lips.

Hakyeon released him. "Don't say anything. I'm being a good leader and worrying about my bandmate."

"Then go find him."

"And leave my fabulous party?" Hakyeon said with a flourish.

Jaehwan smacked the back of his head.

"He's your family too, Hakyeon."

"I'm gonna go call my mo--"

"HAK--"

Hakyeon sprinted to the bathroom and locked himself in, his neck coated in sweat, his hands clammy. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and pressed his first speed dial.

"Ah, my most beautiful, successful son, what are you doing calling your old mother on Christmas? Aren't you at a _fabulous_ party?"

Hakyeon laughed at her identical phrasing and tone. "Hi, mom."

"No seriously why are you calling? I keep bragging to the neighborhood grannies that my son is probably at a _fabulous_ party with Shinhwa or HOT."

"Mom, why would VIXX be with those old men?"

"The grannies don't know any other bands, Hakyeon, ok! I had to name people they would recognize. You think those old broads know who Bangtan is? Bangtan was in their mothers' wombs when those grannies stopped paying attention to Pop music."

"I get it, mom, I get it."

"So why are you calling? I hear muffled American music in the background. Is that Wonshik? Tell him that I love the new hair. Very fluffy, very colorful."

Hakyeon smiled.

"Is Taekwoon there?"

Hakyeon gurgled. "Huh? Wh-why?"

"Because I remember you saying he hates parties. 'He hates having to shout. Or speak at all,'" she said, imitating Hakyeon.

"Oh, yeah, he's he--"

"But he seems to talk a lot. I mean, to you. At least from what I've seen online and in those videos and--"

"Mom what have I said about stalking fanaccount pages!!"

"I'm sorry! When you don't call me as often or come home...how am I supposed to know what is going on in your life? And when those mean girls write awful things about you, I just--"

"Don't tell me you post on the boards, oh God, Mom."

"They made fun of your beautiful skin, Hakyeonnie!"

"Yeah, so does the rest of the country, so what? I don't care."

"I know you've been bleaching again," her tone grew serious, and Hakyeon swallowed down his guilt. When would he stop feeling guilty about unwise choices in his adult life?

"Mom, not now."

"If you didn't want a motherly rant then why did you call?"

Hakyeon drew in a shaky breath and rubbed at his face with his free hand.

"I don't know. I don't kn--"

The door was suddenly open and Taekwoon was suddenly in the bathroom, and Hakyeon was suddenly dropping the phone to the floor, shattering the screen and dislodging the battery.

Taekwoon shut the door behind him and locked it.

"Taekwoon, what? Um, what is going...what?"

Taekwoon's cheeks were flushed, his eyes glassy. He stumbled and fell forward against the sink, hands braced on the white porcelain. His red hair was matted to his forehead with sweat, and he made no move to fix it.

Hakyeon rushed to stand and touch his hands to Taekwoon's shoulders.

"Taekwoon, look at me."

He didn't move, just stared down into the sink basin, taking deep breaths.

"You...don't look at _me_ ," Taekwoon said in that gentle voice of his, though his tone was far from gentle. It was about as biting as Hakyeon had ever heard it.

"What are you talking about? You're drunk, okay? Let's just get you to--"

Taekwoon jerked out of Hakyeon's hold and pressed himself against the wall, like a small mammal hiding from the shadow of something much larger. It would have been funny, considering that without Hakyeon's lifts, he was much smaller than Taekwoon, much less substantial, but it wasn't funny.

"You've had too much to drink, Taekwoon," Hakyeon said, getting defensive.

"You used to look at me," Taekwoon muttered, fingering the hem of his sweater.

"I'm looking at you right now," Hakyeon lied, his gaze actually on Taekwoon's hands, his pale slim fingers. Even that was verging on too much. Hakyeon kept seeing those fingers other places. So inconvenient, so absolutely gorgeous. He averted his gaze to the toilet. Much less tempting.

Taekwoon took advantage of Hakyeon's momentary distraction to grip Hakyeon's shirt (his brand new Givenchy!) and pull him forward against the wall with him, against Taekwoon's chest. Hakyeon's hands scrambled against the wallpaper, trying to push himself away, but Taekwoon had his arms wound around Hakyeon's neck, anchoring him in place.

"Look at me."

Hakyeon scoffed and tried to pull away again.

"Hakyeon, please. _Please._ "

Oh god that word. Hakyeon's throat went dry, and he tried to force up his bravado like thick bile in his gut.

"Please," Taekwoon whispered, and Hakyeon couldn't, he just couldn't.

Because when he looked up, he saw those eyes like the darkest eclipse, backed by the brightest light, burning hot.

Hakyeon's hands slid down the wall to Taekwoon's shoulders, his arms, his waist. They'd touched before, helping dress one another when stylists were too busy, in passing going to the kitchen in the morning, or when passed out in the van coming back from a performance.

But this was something else entirely. Hakyeon's fingers felt itchy, under the skin, in his nerves. And the more he touched, the itchier he felt.

Taekwoon must have felt it too because his hooded eyes opened just the slightest, and he tipped his head down.

"Kiss me," he said, voice soft and sweet like always, but backed by a sense of urgency.

Hakyeon wanted to refuse. Honestly, he wanted to dunk his head in the toilet water and flush his whole being away, but instead he lifted up to touch his lips to Taekwoon's.

Hakyeon's lips felt like they were shaking, not working like normal--they were just lips after all, so why were they being so strange?

Taekwoon's mouth was soft and yielding under Hakyeon's, but when Hakyeon made no move to deepen the kiss, Taekwoon growled into his mouth and grabbed him.

"I said kiss me," he hissed, pulling Hakyeon forward and tipping his head back to get better access to his mouth.

Hakyeon felt like something had invaded his body, taken him over. God, he was possessed, hands clutching Taekwoon's shirt and letting Taekwoon's tongue slide over his bottom lip, ever so teasingly.

He was hot.

His shirt was sticking to his back, and he wanted to pull it away from his skin. His hair was sticking to the back of his neck. He was like a dog, panting into Taekwoon's mouth as they kissed. Hakyeon had his hands braced now on the wall behind Taekwoon's head, letting him take what control he could out of the kiss.

His whole body was pressed flush up against Taekwoon's, and he could feel every gentle curve of his slender frame. His ribs dug into Hakyeon's, and for a second the leader in Hakyeon thought _is he eating?_

But then Taekwoon lapped his little tongue into Hakyeon's mouth, and there was nothing more to think about.

Hakyeon fisted his hands into Taekwoon's hair, and he felt Taekwoon grind his hips down against his own.

_Oh._

Heat sparked down the notches of Hakyeon's spine, and he tugged harder at Taekwoon's hair. The heat settled in a pool in his belly, building slowly as if Taekwoon were trickling gasoline down his esophagus with every second their lips touched.

Taekwoon released the softest, rawest moan as Hakyeon gripped into his hair, and Hakyeon couldn't take it anymore.

He wanted to be everywhere.

He wanted his hands everywhere.

He wanted to be out of these clothes.

He wanted to be inside Taekwoon.

_Oh fuck._

It was as if gravity itself stopped working right, increased tenfold, and Hakyeon stumbled backwards and fell against the sink like deadweight.

"Hak...yeon?" Taekwoon murmured, panting, his lips red and slick.

Hakyeon heard the music outside again, and he remembered where he was. Who he was. Who Taekwoon was.

"Fuck," he said, and once he could feel his legs again, he bolted.

"Hak--"

Hakyeon didn't hear the door shut behind him.

 

May 2015:

 

It was late spring, and the Utopia tour was ending.

The boys were out in the living room, enjoying the slight breeze from the small window unit air conditioner in the hotel, but Hakyeon was in his room, reviewing their live performances.

He was leader, after all. He should always be looking for ways to improve. To him, VIXX was perfect. Always was. But their manager would expect points to work on for the next comeback, for the next tour.

Hakyeon studied the live shows, watching the way Sanghyuk sometimes hid himself from the cameras, or the way Hongbin's voice shook during his solo lines, or the way Wonshik's hand gripped the mic so hard his knuckles turned white.

 _Points for improvement…for all of them, Hakyeon,_ his manager had said.

Hakyeon paused the video and got up to shut the door, locking it.

Each time the camera hovered in front of Taekwoon, Taekwoon lifted his gaze to it in a way that Hakyeon almost couldn't stomach. It felt like it were for him, which was absurd. It was for the fans. For the teenage girls at home who screamed when Taekwoon licked his lips or swung his slender hips or touched his hand over his own thighs.

Hakyeon slammed his finger down on the pause.

He was sweating again. He felt the droplets spilling down between his shoulder blades.

It was hot.

It was May, he reasoned. Sun high and spilling through the glass windows like it were targeting him.

But this was a different heat.

It simmered in his stomach and sunk lower and lower and soon Hakyeon felt like a tightly coiled spring, and he knew what this feeling was.

He was in his twenties, after all.

Taekwoon on the screen had his eyes shut, eyelashes dark against his pale cheeks. It would have been a ridiculous screen shot for anyone else. Taekwoon would have protested its existence with a soft puff of air and a smack to the arm.

_Kiss me._

_Please._

Hakyeon fell back on his mattress and tried to roll onto his stomach to quell the budding heat between his legs. His dick brushed against the sheets through his basketball shorts, and Hakyeon groaned weakly.

The image of Taekwoon's lips parted and wet and red chapped had Hakyeon feeling like he was about to burn up. He’d done so well forgetting that specific memory, but at times like these he couldn’t help but conjure it up. He found himself flipping over and shimmying out of his shorts before he could drip precome all over the mesh.

It felt like one of those animations of a death trap; he was stationed in the middle of an empty room with burning metal walls, and they were slowly but surely closing in, as if to turn him into human grilled cheese. His blood and organs were the cheese. They were going to ooze out of him and burn on the walls. The burnt part was always the most delicious.

            Hakyeon’s hand closed around the base of his cock, and he should have been embarrassed about how hard he was simply from watching a video of his own group performing, but instead his head was empty of nearly every thought aside from _end this heat, do it fast, do it now_.

            He was staring up at the bare white ceiling, his wrist flicking up, dragging his sweaty palm over the underside of his cock, when he heard Taekwoon’s voice in his ears.

            _Look at me._

 _Kiss me_.

            It wasn’t even in his ears. It was in his skull. Filling up like hourglass sand in his cranium, and Hakyeon was drowning in it.

Taekwoon was quicksand.

His hand picked up speed, his breath puffing out between his lips, and he could practically feel and see Taekwoon’s plush lips wrapped around his dick, his dark eyelashes fanned out over his sharp cheekbones. Hakyeon gripped the base of his cock harder to keep himself from coming, and he choked back a sob.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured up at the ceiling, feeling precome dripping down over his tan fingers as he held himself. His hips rutted up unconsciously, and God he _wanted_ , he _needed_ to come so badly, but now all he could think of was Taekwoon’s eyes open and trained on his face as Hakyeon slanted his hips down to fit his whole cock into Taekwoon’s mouth. And Taekwoon would take it all. He knew he would.

“Fuck,” he moaned, releasing his grip on his cock, “Taek—”

 _Look at me, Hakyeon_.

Hakyeon’s eyes fluttered shut, and all he could see was Taekwoon’s lips shining with come, his eyes glassy with tears, his hair matted to his cheeks.

His fist slid up his cock to the tip, and he thumbed it just once, and his toes were curling as he came, choking on that name over and over again.

 

June 2015:

 

            “It got hot again,” Sanghyuk griped, perched on the plastic folding chair on their dorm room’s balcony, leaving the glass door ajar.

            “Then why are you out in the sun?” Hakyeon called back, fanning himself with an old magazine with their faces on the cover.

            “Less stifling than sitting in there with you all grumpy.”

            “I’m not grumpy!” Hakyeon hissed, reaching for his glass of pineapple juice and sipping it resentfully.

            “Sure you are. You’re practically radiating grump,” Sanghyuk said, popping his head inside the dorm to glare at Hakyeon.

            “That’s probably just heat I’m radiating, since you’re _letting the air conditioning out_ ,” Hakyeon gurgled.

            Sanghyuk let the glass door slide closed behind him. He dropped down on the couch beside Hakyeon, uncomfortably close, their knees touching. His hand dropped to Hakyeon’s thigh.

            “Hyung,” he murmured.

            “Don’t,” Hakyeon said, trying to scoot away.

            Sanghyuk grabbed him by the belt loop and held him still.

            “Damn strong giant-ass maknae,” Hakyeon groaned, grabbing the arm of the couch and trying to worm away from Sanghyuk, who was giving Hakyeon the sympathy eyes.

            After an embarrassingly lengthy few minutes of struggle to no avail, Hakyeon flopped like a flatfish down onto the couch cushions in surrender.

            Sanghyuk straddled him and cupped Hakyeon’s tan cheeks in his pale, sweaty hands. It was an unpleasant sensation, but Hakyeon didn’t hate it.

            “Hyung,” Sanghyuk cooed. “It’s time we had a serious talk about responsibility.”

            Hakyeon scoffed and turned his head to the side, pressing his nose into Sanghyuk’s clammy palm. It smelled like summer heat.

            “It’s been years, hyung. _Years_. And this is still an issue.”

            Hakyeon shut his eyes when he felt the loathsome heat pressing at the back of his eyelids. “No idea what you mean.”

            “This was funny at the beginning when we were kids, hyung, but now it’s just sad.”

            “We? You still are a kid!”

            Sanghyuk attempted to pry one of Hakyeon’s eyelids open, the tiny flap of pink skin fluttering under his fingers.

            “Leave me alone to die, maknae! It’s too late for me!” Hakyeon moaned weakly, swatting at Sanghyuk’s hands.

            “Just kiss him you dumb old man!”

Sanghyuk had Hakyeon by the shoulders, shaking him, their faces inches apart, when the door to the dorm opened.

“Um.”

Taekwoon and Wonshik stood in the doorway, wearing far, far too much clothing for the summer heat, meaning they must’ve just got back from the airport where an unnecessary amount of coats were needed to look stylish.

Taekwoon dropped his suitcase on the floor.

“Welcome home?” Sanghyuk meeped.

Hakyeon met Taekwoon’s gaze, his tank-top straps askew from when Sanghyuk had shaken him, his hair a ruffled mess.

Wonshik tried to grab for Taekwoon’s hand, but he had already disappeared down the hall to his room.

“You were supposed to text me when you got to the dorm!” Sanghyuk wailed, rolling off Hakyeon and landing on the floor on his hands and knees. It was an anguished pose. It looked like a borrowed pose from an old Naruto episode.

“I totally forgot, shit,” Wonshik said, staring down the empty hallway.

Hakyeon glanced back and forth between his two bandmates, deciding internally whether or not to be angry or confused.

“Are you two scheming against me?” he ventured.

The door burst open behind Wonshik.

“Did they ki--?” Jaehwan called out, flailing his arms like noodles.

Wonshik grabbed him by the shirt collar and slapped a hand over his mouth. Jaehwan’s arms continued flailing.

“Shh,” Wonshik hissed.

Jaehwan slumped in Wonshik’s hold.

Hakyeon sighed, staring up at their white ceiling.

 

August 2015:

 

Hakyeon tried very hard not to get jealous. He really did.

It would be silly to get jealous. Wonshik and Taekwoon were best friends who made music together. Beautiful, sultry, painful music. Taekwoon and Hakyeon could totally make that kind of music together too.

Except the only music Hakyeon had ever gotten Taekwoon to make with him had been a series of very unsuccessful gwiyomi attempts.

And the video.

 _Pornographic_ —one of the fan café messages said.

Hakyeon was torn between feeling uncomfortable that his precious Starlights knew what pornography was and feeling like he was in complete and utter agreement with them.

After his previous masturbatory mishap while watching VIXX-related videos, Hakyeon slammed the laptop shut before he could even think to unbutton his pants.

Instead, he threw his entire being into support for LR. He made banners, showed up to every fan event, led the fan chants at their shows.

Hakyeon was _not_ jealous.

He was _supportive_.

 _Goddamnit_.

 

January 1, 2016:

 

            “It’s fucking _cold_ ,” Hakyeon whined as Hongbin once again opened the door to the balcony to peek outside.

            “I just want to know where the fireworks will be coming from,” Hongbin replied, shutting the door. “I don’t want to miss them.”

            “They are literally giant balls of chemical fire that make loud booms; I don’t think you could possibly miss them. However, we already missed them,” Hakyeon said, pouring himself another shot of Soju. “It’s like, 3 AM.”

            “Ignore him,” Wonshik said, pulling off his Gaeyo Daejun plaid vest. “I thought ahead and taped the New York City ball drop. We can pretend.”

            Hongbin’s face lit up as he went to drop down onto the couch with Wonshik, undoing his own plaid tie and spinning it around excitedly over his head like a lasso. “New Year’s Eve! Let’s get crazy!”

            Wonshik grinned, pressing play on the recording.

            Hakyeon narrowed his eyes. “It’s not even the Ev—”

“Shut up, old man!” Wonshik and Hongbin hissed in unison.

Jaehwan and Sanghyuk stood in the kitchen, voices low as they mixed together some new kind of diabolical punch.

Taekwoon emerged from the bathroom moments later, face clean of BB creams and eyeliner, and God did he glow.

Hakyeon swallowed down this anxiety that had formed under his tongue, and he walked over to Taekwoon slowly.

“Punch!” Jaehwan called out, holding a neon colored bowl over his head ceremoniously.

Taekwoon veered in his direction, grabbing a red cup from Sanghyuk’s hand and dunking it into the punch.

Hakyeon was having déjà vu.

On the screen, some female singer from the UK was leading the American crowd in singing “Imagine.”

Taekwoon sipped his punch as he hummed along. Even his gurgling hums sounded like an auto-tuned angel chorus.

Was it the Soju, or did Hakyeon’s skin feel tighter than normal? Was his blood twitching? Were his veins all tangled up inside his limbs? Was his rib cage converging into one massive bone shield around his heart and lungs?

“Ten!”

Hakyeon’s gaze shot to the television.

“Nine!”

“Already?” Hakyeon croaked.

“Drinks at the ready, brothers!” Wonshik cried, red cup poised in the air next to Hongbin’s. Jaehwan and Sanghuk jumped onto the couch, joining the pile as they stared at the screen.

“Seven!”

Where did eight go? Did he miss it?

“Six!”

Taekwoon stood stock still next to Hakyeon, and Hakyeon could swear his own heartbeat was louder than the roaring crowd in Times Square.

“Four!”

No. No this was too soon. He wasn’t ready.

Wait.

He tried to remind himself that this was a recording. New Years Eve had already passed. It was January 1st.

“Two!”

Sweet fuck.

He grabbed Taekwoon by the face, their noses inches apart.

“I—”

“One!”

Explosions shot off behind Hakyeon’s eyes. His pulse stopped at once, and he felt faint.

“What?” Taekwoon said, his cheeks burning hot under Hakyeon’s palms.

Hakyeon stumbled back, hands feeling like they had been pressed to the burning hot surface of a stovetop.

“No. You don’t get to do this again.” Taekwoon grabbed Hakyeon’s tie and dragged him off to the bathroom, locking the door behind them.

Hakyeon fell back against the sink.

He felt dizzy.

“Tell me,” Taekwoon begged. “Tell me.”

Hakyeon turned on the tap and splashed his face with cold water. His face was so warm it could have turned to steam when it touched his skin.

“I tried,” Hakyeon said.

“Try again,” Taekwoon replied softly, fingers brushing the back of Hakyeon’s plaid jacket.

“It’s been _years_ , Taekwoon,” Hakyeon muttered. “We’ve buried this for years.”

“Then don’t say anything,” Taekwoon said, his breath at the back of Hakyeon’s neck. “You know how I feel about talking.”

“I’m supposed to be the one who is good at the words thing,” Hakyeon laughed.

“So be good at something else right now.”

Taekwoon slowly spun Hakyeon around to face him with gentle hands on Hakyeon’s slim hips.

“Tell me to kiss you,” Taekwoon pleaded, eyes dark and half-lidded.

Hakyeon’s hands reached for Taekwoon’s face, and his fingers dug into the softness of Taekwoon’s cheeks, gripped into his newly dyed, slightly crispy blonde hair. The desperation rose up inside him like stomach bile, burning on the way up his esophagus.

“God, fuck, kiss me, Taekwoon.”

Taekwoon grabbed Hakyeon around the waist and surged forward. Their teeth clashed for a moment before they could right themselves, angle their lips, create a rhythm. Hakyeon breathed out shakily into Taekwoon’s mouth, just as Taekwoon inhaled, and it was one of the most intimate things Hakyeon could imagine.

He pressed Taekwoon up against the counter, shoved himself between Taekwoon’s long, thin legs, and continued kissing him as if they’d never stopped.

Taekwoon skimmed his calloused fingers under the hem of Hakyeon’s dress shirt, which he’d pulled out from his dress pants without Hakyeon noticing.

“You—” Hakyeon groaned, forehead falling to Taekwoon’s shoulder as Taekwoon’s fingers explored under Hakyeon’s shirt.

“Good?”

Hakyeon laughed soft puffs of air against Taekwoon’s shoulder.

“I want to see you,” Hakyeon said after a moment.

“Then open your eyes,” Taekwoon replied.

“All,” Hakyeon said. “All of you.”

Taekwoon’s hands pressed Hakyeon away for a second, and Hakyeon was afraid he’d said something wrong, before Taekwoon began tugging his baby pink button-down over his head. The top buttons trapped his head inside the shirt.

Hakyeon laughed and reached for the buttons. When he yanked the shirt over Taekwoon’s head, his blond hair stuck up like a shark’s fin. He looked positively murderous.

“Forget that happened.”

Hakyeon nodded, but he was lying. He’d already committed it to memory in every nerve and organ that could retain memories.

Taekwoon shoved Hakyeon backwards, and he stumbled into the door. Taekwoon stood from the counter and unclasped his belt, letting it clatter to the floor loudly. The skin of his chest was covered in goose bumps from the chilled air of the un-heated bathroom. He had—

“The tiniest nipples ever,” Hakyeon whispered, staring at the tiny tan spots on Taekwoon’s chest. “Oh God, they’re so cute.”

Taekwoon narrowed his eyes and growled, “My nipples aren’t _cute_.”

Hakyeon stepped forward to thumb over the cutest tiniest nipples in history, and Taekwoon quaked, hands falling to tightly grip Hakyeon’s forearms.

“Sensitive…” Hakyeon breathed out.

            “News to me,” Taekwoon replied, leaning into Hakyeon’s touch. “Now kiss me again before I—”

            Taekwoon’s kisses were like swallowing something before it had fully cooled off enough to drink. Hakyeon knew he should stop, knew he was doing something wrong, but the heat sank down into the pit of his stomach like the sweetest magic in the world, warming him up from the inside out.

            He was also surprisingly clingy, hands tugging and reaching and begging, fingers skimming and searching, lips falling to Hakyeon’s long throat, teeth grazing the vein just beside his Adam’s apple.

            Hakyeon gasped, sliding his leg between Taekwoon’s thighs, rubbing, pressing up. They ground their bodies together like they were trying to fit back together after having separated for centuries.

            It was too much. It wasn’t enough.

            “Touch me,” Hakyeon said, tearing off his own blazer and throwing it across the bathroom.

            “Please,” Taekwoon moaned into Hakyeon’s lips, nails dragging up Hakyeon’s chest as Taekwoon ripped his shirt over his head.

            There was a minute of revelation, skin on skin, chest to chest, when Hakyeon and Taekwoon could only inhale and exhale. Hakyeon felt his hands begin to shake.

            “I need you,” he said, hoarse.

            “ _Please_ ,” Taekwoon breathed out, looking utterly wrecked already.

            It took some maneuvering, some leaning and backing up and side-stepping, but they managed to kick the rest of their clothing off into the bathtub or into the corner.

            “I feel like we should turn a light off,” Hakyeon muttered, goosebumped forearms crossing over his pelvis.

            “What’s the point?” Taekwoon said, grabbing Hakyeon’s wrists and pulling them away from his body. “I have to see you to touch you.”

            “I’d like to argue that point but…”

            “Just stop talking,” Taekwoon laughed lowly. “Stop talking for once in your life.”

            “Excuse—”

            Taekwoon dropped to his knees, and Hakyeon swallowed down his words.

            Taekwoon’s hands slid up Hakyeon’s bare legs, worshipful and reverent, until they reached Hakyeon’s sharp hip bones, tugging him forward.

            Hakyeon wanted to be embarrassed about how red and swollen his dick already looked in the harsh white lighting of the bathroom, but it was hard to feel anything but aroused when Taekwoon was staring up into his eyes, fingers wrapping around the shaft of Hakyeon’s erection.

            Hakyeon choked, nearly collapsing backwards.

            “Oh, well, that’s something else,” Hakyeon coughed.

            “This was supposed to shut you up,” Taekwoon said, smirking and shaking his head. “Next thing, then.”

            “Huh?”

            Taekwoon’s lips spread, and Hakyeon had only a split second to process the sight before the head of his cock disappeared into Taekwoon’s mouth.

            It felt like being on a rollercoaster.

            Like being on a rollercoaster while his dick was in a Ziploc bag filled with hot water. Tight, hot water.

            Hakyeon needed to work on his analogies.

            “God,” Hakyeon choked, grabbing Taekwoon by the hair. “Heaven is inside your mouth, Jung Taekwoon.”

            “Put that in our next song,” Taekwoon said, licking his lips as he drags his fist tightly up around Hakyeon’s cock.

            Taekwoon’s tongue touched the slit, tasting Hakyeon’s precum, and Hakyeon’s knees turned to Jell-o.

            He dropped to the tiled floor, knees stinging, and splayed himself over Taekwoon’s body.

            “So the thing is.”

            “What?”

            “I think I’m about three seconds away from cumming, but I don’t want to do it.”

            “You don’t?”

            “No,” Hakyeon said, dumbfounded. “For the first time in my life, I don’t want to cum yet.”

            “So. What now?” Taekwoon reached up and slid Hakyeon’s fringe away from his eyes.

            “I’m not sure.”

            Taekwoon laughed, wrapping his bare legs around Hakyeon’s torso, and fuck if that wasn’t the sexiest feeling ever.

            “You’re not helping,” Hakyeon gurgled.

            Taekwoon moved to drop his legs, but Hakyeon dug his nails into Taekwoon’s thighs. “Don’t.” His hands were shaking, and there was a bead of sweat traveling the length of his spine, raising the hairs on his neck.

            “Why?”  
            “If you move your body, I swear to God I’ll just…” He dropped his forehead to Taekwoon’s, feeling Taekwoon’s heavy breathing on his lips.

            Taekwoon laughed again, pushing up to rut his erection against Hakyeon’s thigh. Hakyeon moaned, the sound bubbling up from his lips involuntarily.

            “This is embarrassing.”

            “It took us four years to get here.”

            “Might as well just let it happen then, huh?”

            Taekwoon started the rhythm, rocking his hips up until their cocks brushed, and Hakyeon held his thighs tightly in his hands, rutting down at a slightly uneven pace. It was sloppy, it was definitely not graceful, and it was the hottest thing Hakyeon could ever fathom happening to him in their dormitory bathroom. Or anywhere.

            Taekwoon was making these little high noises against Hakyeon’s neck, and the sound shot right down his body and made his cock pulse against Taekwoon’s stomach.

            “Taek…woon…” Hakyeon’s hands dropped to the floor on either side of Taekwoon’s head, letting Taekwoon’s legs drop down from around his waist. “I need more. I need…”

            “Me too,” Taekwoon said. “The room. I have…”

            “You have…?”

            Their eyes met. Hakyeon scrambled up as fast as his wobbly legs would allow, peeked out the door into the hall, and darted across into Taekwoon’s bedroom as quickly as possible. For a moment, he felt guilty for leaving Taekwoon behind, but it was only seconds later that Taekwoon materialized behind him like water being poured up from underneath the door frame.

            “You said you have…”

            Taekwoon laughed, and the sound was like faint, distant bells.

            “Lay down, Hakyeon.”

            Hakyeon found himself complying, which was utterly out of character. The sheets were neatly tucked under the bed, blanket folded, pillow fluffed. It felt dirty to be laying down naked and dripping and hard onto such a bed.

            But Taekwoon was looking at him so expectantly, and there was something in his eyes that made Hakyeon shiver.

            The lube, Hakyeon supposed, was in Taekwoon’s music composition drawer. At least it wasn’t his socks.

            “At least it wasn’t with your socks.”

            Taekwoon looked unamused as he climbed up onto the bed.

            Hakyeon wanted to look away because just the sight of Taekwoon’s shoulder blades shifting under his skin as he crawled was enough to make precum leak out onto his stomach.

            “Kiss me,” Hakyeon said, grabbing Taekwoon by the back of the neck and dipping his head down for easier access to his lips.

            Taekwoon fiddled with the top of the bottle, uncapping it messily so that lube spilled down onto Hakyeon’s stomach, but he didn’t mind it.

            Taekwoon merely smeared the lube down his abdomen and took Hakyeon’s cock back into his warm hands, running them up and down the length until Hakyeon was shuddering beneath him.

            “Stop, stop, God, please, fuck, stop,” he hissed between his teeth.

            “Then let me.”

            Taekwoon took his slick fingers and slid them around his own body, and Hakyeon watched them disappear from sight. Taekwoon shook on top of him as Hakyeon held onto his hips, digging half moon crescents with his nails into Taekwoon’s pale skin.

            “Fuck.” The air whooshed out of Hakyeon’s lungs as Taekwoon fucked himself onto his own fingers. His body kept shaking, his voice just as uneven as he whined, sometimes low and sometimes in falsetto.

            “In me,” Taekwoon urged. “Quickly.”

            Hakyeon’s hands didn’t know where to go.

            “I don’t know…”

            “Fuck, Hakyeon, just—”

            Taekwoon grabbed Hakyeon’s cock and ran it along the cleft of his ass until the head was pressed against his entrance.

            “Push up,” Taekwoon begged. “I don’t know if I can.”

            Hakyeon looked up into Taekwoon’s face, and when Taekwoon offered him a weak, shaky smile, Hakyeon thrust his hips up.

            He felt himself breach Taekwoon’s body, and at the same time he felt nothing. He went numb. It was all so hot, so tight, pressing in on him, sucking him in like he belonged there, like Taekwoon’s body was taking hold of him.

            “Shit,” Taekwoon sighed.

            “Oh thank God, you finally swore,” Hakyeon said weakly. “I thought I was the only one losing my goddamn mind over here.”

            “You feel so…so good,” Taekwoon gasped, experimentally rolling his hips. His eyes slammed shut, and he winced.

            “Okay?”

            Taekwoon nodded, stilling his hips. “Just give me a …minute.”

            “Dunno if I can last a minute,” Hakyeon said.

            Taekwoon tightened around Hakyeon, and he slapped Taekwoon’s hip on reflex. Taekwoon winced, but his chest flushed, and he let out a soft moan. The blush spread up his throat, and he looked so gorgeous.

            “Fuck me, Hakyeon,” Taekwoon whispered.

            Hakyeon’s hands slid around to Taekwoon’s ass, lifting him up on his cock, and then Taekwoon let his body weight drop him back down. There was no rhythm, and Hakyeon could see the strain in Taekwoon’s face as his muscles grew tired.

            “We have other days,” Hakyeon said. “For everything. For the other things. For the stuff we missed. Let’s just have now.”

            “Yeah. We have everyday,” Taekwoon replied, nodding, his hair fallen in front of his eyes as he braced his hands on Hakyeon’s chest and rocked himself up and down only a mere inch or so each time.

            It was enough.

            It was everything.

            Hakyeon felt the heat building up, but it wasn’t like he’d imagined from porn or from movies. He didn’t scream. He didn’t feel like he’d shot out into space. It was like someone just emptied him out, drained his blood out, hollowed out his bones, and then filled him back up with blinding heat for just a few brief seconds. For a split second he was nothing. And then he was everything.

            And then he was himself again.

            And then he was wrapping his hands around Taekwoon’s pink, flushed cock and stroking hard and fast, and Taekwoon was shuddering like he’d lost himself in the same way Hakyeon had. And then Taekwoon dropped down onto Hakyeon, eyelids fluttering and legs still shaking slightly.

            “I give us an A for effort,” Hakyeon said after a moment of quiet, save for the sounds of heavy breathing.

            “Shouldn’t it be E for effort,” Taekwoon replied, wetting his chapped lips and glancing up at Hakyeon from where his cheek lay on Hakyeon’s chest.

            “I think we did pretty well. Hows about that?”

            Taekwoon laughed, and this was the most Hakyeon had ever heard him laugh in his life, and Hakyeon was greedy for more of everything.

            “I can’t believe we waited four years for this.”

            “ _We_?” Taekwoon gasped. “Reconsider your words, please.”

            “Okay, _I_ made us wait four years.”  
            “Because you’re a dick.”

            “Whoa, whoa,” Hakyeon said. “Who just gave you the best orgasm of your life?”

            “ _I_ did.”

            “Okay, mostly, yes.”

            Taekwoon slid up Hakyeon’s body to press a kiss to the corner of his lips and then to his cheek, his chin, his forehead, his nose.

            “You liked me back then, didn’t you?” he asked.

            Hakyeon cupped Taekwoon’s cheeks, thumbing over his soft cheekbones and jawline.

            “I thought you were the worst thing that had ever happened to me. I despised you. I always wanted to be near you. I wanted to always be touching you. I wanted to be as far from you as possible. I wanted you to hate me. I wanted you to love me. I didn’t know what I wanted.”

            “Clearly.”

            “Happy New Year, fools!” Jaehwan cried, bursting into the room and tossing confetti onto the bed as Sanghyuk popped up behind him with a kazoo in his mouth.

            “Congratulations! It’s two boys!” Sanghyuk garbled around the kazoo, and it made feeble honking noises with each word he tried to shout.

            “New year, new you, new boo!” Jaehwan wailed at the ceiling.

            “Guys,” Wonshik warned from the doorway. “You do realize they’re both naked and—”

            He averted his eyes and flushed as Hongbin ushered him away.

            “Prude!” Sanghyuk called back.

            “I’m proud of you,” Hongbin said as he led Wonshik away.

            Taekwoon looked downright murderous.

            Hakyeon scrambled out from beneath him and grabbed a pillow, tossing it in Jaehwan’s direction.

            “Out, fiends!”

            “Ah, young love! How it turns violent in the throws of passion!”

            “I’ll _passionately_ rip out your lower intestine!”

            Taekwoon grabbed the blanket and tugged it over his head, curling into a small ball to hide.

           

 

Current Day:

 

            “Ma, are you there? Can you see me?”

            “I can’t…where are you? It’s all fuzzy—oh there you are. There’s my beautiful baby boy!”

            Hakyeon shifts the phone, holding it closer to his face as his mother’s face appears on the screen.

            “Mom, where are you?”

            “I’m at the market. Some old grandma is selling iKon posters and no VIXX posters, and I’m about to give her a stern talking to.”

            “Mom, please don’t slap her with a fish or something.”

            “I was thinking octopus but—”

            “Mom!”

            “Oh, is that Taekwoonie? Hi, honey, hi!” Hakyeon’s mom waves frantically, her free hand carrying a bag of what appears to be only VIXX CDs and signed pictures of Hakyeon.

            Taekwoon shifts in the bed next to Hakyeon from where he’d been reading his book on music composition in the age of technology. What a loser.

            “Hi, Hakyeon’s Mom,” Taekwoon says, bowing his head slightly.

            “Oh, he’s so cute, son, I’m so proud.”

            “Mom, please,” Hakyeon begs. “Not this again.”

            “I mean when you first came home, and I found you moaning into a sock while watching that audition video of Taekwoon, I was alarmed but—”

            “GOD MOM.”

            Taekwoon snickers against Hakyeon’s shoulder, cheeks flushed prettily pink.

            “You watched my audition tape?” he asks.

            “That’s what you gained from that story?”

            “Is that when you started liking me?”

            “Yah! Grandma! Who is iKon? Don’t you know that VIXX has won more awards than—”

            “Mom, stop, Mom, leave the grandma alone—”

            “I love you.”

            Hakyeon sharply turns, dropping the phone.

            “Wuwuzzat?”

            In the background, Hakyeon’s mom is shouting at the market grandma about VIXX and the skewed Korean pop industry and plastic surgery and talentless children.

            Taekwoon brushes his lips against Hakyeon’s.

            “You heard me.”

            “Maybe I did, maybe I didn’t.”

            “It took us four years, Hakyeon. You know what I said.”  
            “So you’ve had four years to practice how to say it.”

            Taekwoon sighs and shoves at Hakyeon’s face.

            “Fine. I love you. I love you, okay? See, this is me loving you,” Taekwoon grumbles, climbing onto Hakyeon and shoving his hands against Hakyeon’s cheeks, mushing them.

            “ _VIXX KNOWS REAL LOVE. DOES IKON EVEN KNOW REAL LOVE?”_

            “Mom!”

 

 

           

 

 

           

 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


                  

                  

                  

           

 

 


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